I do much of my reading, and nearly all of my writing, in my "hut" - if hut is not too small a word for the cedar octagon you see me in here.
We moved to Salt Spring Island about six months ago. The realtor said, "Oh, I have the place for you." The house is lovely, in a forest, with glimpses of Fulford fjord. But the studio! Artist-made for an artist, stained glass, copper flashing, a stove. I chop wood, make a fire, grab a vat of coffee. My desk is right in the centre, under a long, woven lampshade - the point where the energy pours down. I look out through huge windows at deer grazing and several of my 300 Douglas fir or maple. Other writers say rude things to me.
My chair is ergonomic and just uncomfortable enough to keep me awake - I can't read in bed or anything with padding. My desk is awash with whatever I am working on - in this case, a novel about Shakespeare's fight choreographer and the first production of Hamlet (I am also an actor and played the Dane in Calgary in 1994. Obsessed ever since).
Hence Henry V. James Shapiro's 1599 is superb; never before did I realize just how much Hamlet so reflected "the form and pressure of the age." The word on the street was "conspire" and Will drew in the high and low to hear his prince ask "Why?"
C. C. Humphreys is a Toronto-born, British-raised actor, playwright and novelist. His most recent novel is A Place Called Armageddon: Constantinople - 1453.
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